Wild Game (Wilding Pack Wolves 1) - New Adult Paranormal Romance (11 page)

“Nova‌—‌” He leaned closer, torment on his face.

But she didn’t want his pity. Not a pity fuck or even a pity hug. She stepped back and wiped angrily at her eyes. “I’m fine! I’m just… tired. It’s been a long day.” She teetered, uncomfortable in her own apartment, invaded by a man who was keeping her alive, but driving her crazy in the process. Crazy with lust, crazy with anger, and just flat unhinged with everything that was happening.

Owen’s hands stopped reaching for her, curling up instead.

She turned and stalked away from him, retreating into her bedroom where she could cry out her fear-laden tears by herself, where it was a whole lot less embarrassing. But once she had cast off her costume and angrily pulled on a nightshirt, the tears fled, leaving only emptiness behind. It was true that her nightmares were filled with visions of dismembered wolves and bloody butcher knives and explosions that tore her into pieces even before the Wolf Hunter could get his blades into her, but her dreams were entirely different. In her dreams, there was nothing in the world but her and her hot bodyguard, together in a fantasy world where that was all that mattered. She crawled into bed and burrowed under the covers, retreating into that dream-like state where Owen was whispering sweet things against her skin.

I know just what you need.

Dream Owen
did
know what she needed, even if the real one was angrily camped out on her couch, probably cursing her out in his head. She pushed that image aside and drifted off into a hazy half-sleep, comforted by the dream version of her bodyguard‌—‌the one that protected her, painted hot kisses across her body, and understood her heart all too well.

Owen was in his beast form, thrashing in his cage. He knew this because he was too low to the ground to be human, but somehow his body, as it hurled itself wildly against the bars, wasn’t visible to him. Or maybe he avoided looking at it. Or couldn’t… maybe he had no control of his eyes or his mind as it was locked up by the fear and the primal rage wanting release… and revenge…

A thump woke him.

His heart was still beating wildly, his beast surging under his skin. He came fully awake in an instant, leaping up from the couch, casting the blanket aside, and lunging for his weapon, which was holstered on the table next to him. He froze, trying to contain the raging animal inside him. It had never been this close to the surface before, and that was freaking him straight out. But more importantly‌—‌someone was in Nova’s apartment.

He waited, holding his breath and listening.

A soft clink sound, then nearly silent footsteps. In the kitchen.

He dashed toward the sound, rounding the corner from the living room to the tiny walled-off kitchen, flicking off the safety as he swung his gun around‌—‌

Fuck.

It was Nova.

She screamed in surprise and jumped. He checked his aim, yanking his gun up to point at the ceiling and reflexively pulling the safety back on. Something crashed.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” he exhaled out, all in one breath.

“Goddamn it.” She was shaking head-to-toe, and in the wan moonlight falling through the one window in her living room, Owen could see the shattered remains of her glass of milk on the floor, a splatter pattern of whitish liquid and glass shards.

“Don’t move!” he commanded, one hand palm out to stop her, the other reaching to lay his gun on the kitchen table a few feet away. “I don’t want you cutting your feet all over the glass.”

“I’m fine‌—‌” she said, lifting one of her tiny feet like she was going to step right on top of the mess.

“Dammit, I said don’t move!” He reached out, grabbed her outstretched arms, and yanked her up and over the broken glass and into him. She was small and light, but the fast motion unbalanced him, and he staggered backward. Plus his head was still rushing from the dream, and once she was in his arms… his inner beast nearly surged up through his skin. It wanted her‌—‌
badly
‌—‌and the only way Owen could keep it under control was to give it what it wanted…

He pulled her small body up his bare chest until her face was level with his‌—‌then he kissed the hell out of her. One hand behind her head, crushing her lips to his, the other arm wrapped tight around her sweet bottom, holding her up. Her whole body responded to him‌—‌hands in his hair and clawing at his back, her legs lifting to wrap around his waist. Her head tipped up, and she opened her mouth to him. His need for her came out as a rumbling growl and an instant erection… but his beast, whatever it was, settled down, mollified by having her in his arms.

She was only wearing a thin t-shirt and panties, and the hot skin of her bottom was searing his hand… along with a need to have more of her.
All of her.
He was dizzy with the touch and scent of her. She was filling his mouth with her greedy tongue, and her hot core was pressed against his stomach. Her clawing fingers on his back said she wanted this as much as he did… but he wanted to make sure. And this time, he wanted her because she
chose
it… not because he’d yanked her into his arms when she was scared to death.
Again.
He wanted this to be more than just a soothing balm for her fears, a casual fuck to chase away the nightmares.

He kept devouring her mouth as he walked her clear of the glass mess on the floor. When they reached the door of her bedroom, it took everything he had to wrench his mouth away from hers and slowly ease her delicate feet to the floor.

They were both breathing hard, and her eyes were half-closed as if she was dreaming. The scent of her arousal was driving him mad, but he forced himself to release her body and just hold her cheeks with his fingertips.

“Nova…” God, there was so much ache in his voice. “What are you doing, sneaking around in the middle of the night? I almost‌—‌” He stopped. Because he hadn’t really been in danger of shooting her‌—‌his reflexes were better than that. It was the shifting that he couldn’t control. And he’d almost let loose the thing inside him, which was not only dangerous to
her,
it was possibly deadly to
him
.

She grimaced and pulled away from him, wrapping her arms around her chest, closing herself off to him again. “I’m sorry.” She shivered‌—‌he couldn’t tell if it was arousal or fear. Maybe both. “I had a nightmare, and I just… I didn’t mean to wake you…” Her shaking got more intense, a full-body thing, and he couldn’t stand it.

He closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her again. “I can think of better ways to wake up,” he whispered into her hair. “But I can’t say I’m sorry to have you in my arms.”

Her face rubbed against his bare chest, and his erection couldn’t have been more obvious if it had hung out a neon sign. God, he wanted her so badly.

“Take me to bed, Owen.” Her lips burned the words across his chest, and there was absolutely no hope of him saying no.

“Yes, ma’am.” He loosened his hold on her enough to hook his arm under her knees, then he lifted her and carried her into the bedroom. Her bare legs against his skin, the way she curled into his chest as he held her… this was stupid, he knew it. But even if it were just casual comfort for her, he couldn’t resist. Because that was all he could have with Nova Wilding, anyway.

He set her down, then turned her away from him while still holding her close. Her hot, sweet rear-end was pressed against his erection, but she was facing the bed.

“What are you doing?” she asked, looking over her shoulder up at him as if she doubted his intentions. Although he couldn’t see how.

He pulled her t-shirt to the side, off her shoulder, and bent his head to whisper against her skin. “I’m taking my time and enjoying this.” This one time might be their last‌—‌and he wanted to draw it out. Her body shivered against him, making his cock even harder. He slid one hand under her shirt and roughly grabbed her breast, kneading it and pulling her tighter against him. His other hand held her shirt out of the way as he feasted on the sweet skin of her shoulder, biting his way up her neck. He wanted to sink his fangs into her, claim her as his own forever, but of course, that was impossible. His beast surged again with the thought, but he kept it contained by even more aggressively clamping his human teeth into her flesh. Her nipple was a tiny, erotic point digging into his palm, and her little mewling sounds were sabotaging his intent to go slow.

He leaned back enough to yank off her shirt, then dug his hands into her hair and pulled her head to the side, opening her neck to him. His biting kisses were wrenching panting breaths out of her, but when his other hand slid around to dive between her legs, she moaned so sweetly, his entire body clenched with need. She was already wet for him. His fingers worked her hot, sensitive sweetness, and that just ramped up her pleasure-filled sounds. When he slipped his fingers inside her, she arched back against him.

“God, Owen, please don’t tease me.”

He wanted to‌—‌God, he wanted to make her cry and beg‌—‌but his beast was ready to crawl out and claim her. It needed
more…
and so did he. He spun her around and devoured her in a kiss. Then he trailed his tongue down the length of her body, tasting her as he shoved down his sleep pants along the way. When his tongue reached her panties, he clamped his teeth on them and peered up at her. She was gazing down at him with a lust-filled daze in her eyes, her dark hair spilling down her chest. Her breasts peeked out, nipples hard, her chest heaving with her labored breath. She wanted pleasure from him, and he would definitely deliver on that… but he couldn’t help wishing there was more than lust in her eyes.

He would have to take what he could get.

Owen released his bite-hold on her panties. “Have a seat, Ms. Wilding.” Before she could respond, he grasped hold of her panties in both hands. She gasped as he ripped the sheer fabric from her body. Then he took hold of her hips and planted her on the bed, spreading her legs and kneeling between them. He dove in, tongue first, as he pushed her to lay back, one hand on her breast, the other lifting her knee over his shoulder. She moaned, and her hands went to his head, guiding him and pulling him deeper into her sex. He didn’t need any encouragement other than the squirming of her body under the flick of his tongue. He loved the tightness of her rock-hard nipple under his fingers, but he had to release her to slid his hand down and thrust his fingers into her sweet hotness. She cried out his name, and his cock bobbed against the bed’s blankets hanging off the edge. Her body tensed, already rushing to her climax. He kept working her until she got there, panting and clutching the blankets and moaning out his name. She shuddered her release, and his mouth ached to be on hers again. To be buried inside her. This idea of taking it slow was a masochistic torment, one his inner beast wasn’t tolerating.

He rose up and quickly entered her, slamming his cock in and sliding her further onto the bed with the force of it. She cried out with the suddenness, and
Holy Fuck,
she was tight. He remembered it from before, the first time, but being inside her again was a little like dying and waking up in heaven. He eased in and out, slowly, but with enough force each time to slide her a little further on the bed.

She arched up and complained, “God, Owen, you’re killing me. No more slow.”

“Slow is how I like it, darlin’.” He was panting, but the truth was he wanted more.
Harder. Faster.
A screaming claiming that would be the best climax she’d ever had. But he couldn’t give her that‌—‌couldn’t be the mate who would give her the best sex of her life‌—‌so he had to settle for tormenting her. And he truly didn’t want to go fast because then it would be over that much sooner.

He finally had her completely up on the bed, slowly entering her and pulling back, and the moans that were coming out of her were straight-up killing him. He leaned forward, buried deep inside her and kissed her full on the mouth. He stayed there, slowly pumping, but hovering over her beautiful face, scrunched tight with pleasure.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded, his heated breaths reaching her across the short distance separating their faces.

Her lips were parted, telegraphing her pleasure, but it wasn’t until she opened those beautiful, dark eyes and stared up at him that he was truly lost. He gazed deep into them, and she held his gaze, not wavering even as her body shuddered with each thrust he delivering.

“Look me in the eyes when I’m lovin’ you,” he said, his chest tight.

Her hand left his shoulder and traced a hot-fire set of lines across his cheek. He kept thrusting, but he’d almost lost track of his body‌—‌all that mattered were her fingers on his face, her eyes staring deeply into his, the look of hope in them, as if she was seeking something inside him. The slow movement of their bodies, connected and ramping up pleasure with each pulse, was nothing compared to the intimacy of that look.

Oh, God,
he was in trouble.

He knew the difference between having sex and making love, and there was no question he was making love to Nova Wilding.

He swallowed, thickly. “Tell me you want me.” The words were an ache striking through his chest.